Gibbs Knew
by Corinne Jane
Summary: He was still holding on. He would always be holding on. If he let go, he wouldn't ever come back. Warning--Recurring Character death mentioned.


**A/N--This is NOT slash. It can be read that way if you'd like but it's more of a Brother fic. It's in Tony's POV. The song in italics is "Angel" by Kelly Clarkson--Her version of it anyways. Sarah McLachlan is the original artist, but as I was listening to Kelly's version I posted it under it.**

**DISCLAIMER--I DO NOT OWN NCIS.**

"_Spend all your time waiting For that second chance For the break that will make it ok." _

They said it had been sudden.

I guess a bullet through the head would be.

They said it had been quick.

I wondered if he had the time to watch his life flash before his eyes. To see me one last time.

I went to his funeral the other night. Candles lit the way to his grave; he always had said electricity was tacky. The sun was almost done setting. The sky was a mix of dark navy and pastel blue; the clouds tinged gold by the fading sunlight.

Not many people came. It didn't surprise the few that were there, but my presence did. I didn't justify my presence. And they didn't justify their's. Fornell gave his eulogy. He said that death was the only out he had. Nothing less was acceptable. It was only natural.

"_There's always some reason To feel not good enough And it's hard at the end of the day."_

I didn't think there was anything natural about having half your skull blown off by a shotgun manned by a psychotic terrorist.

I didn't think there was anything natural about watching the closest thing you had to a brother murdered so brutally in front of your eyes.

It was almost supernatural how one bullet had killed two souls.

Ricocheted.

I was staring at my computer screen for too long, Ziva was looking at me suspiciously and McGee was trying to see my screen from where he sat. I wonder how they would react if I were to tell them he was dead. Ziva would undoubtedly smile. McGee would just shrug. And Gibbs, hell Gibbs would go on as if he had never existed in the first place. No one would care, no one would even notice.

I was the only one who had ever cared for the man.

Misery wouldn't have any company tonight.

I began to wonder what they would say if I told them what he had meant to me. He was my friend. My Brother from a different Mother.

They would ask how it happened. How it all started. I wondered if they'd understand. I knew Gibbs would. Boat, bourbon, basement.

The three B's.

I only had one.

Bench.

"_I need some distraction, oh beautiful release. Memories seep from my veins They may be empty and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight." _

I wondered how I would tell them that one day, after a grueling undercover assignment from Vance, I sat on that damn bench in that damn park waiting hours for him to show. I knew he would. Not because he met me there, just because he went there to think, and reflect and unwind. I was there for those same reasons; I knew he would show eventually.

I wondered how they'd react when I told them that he hadn't shown, at least not the first day. I disobeyed Gibbs' rule number three, never be unreachable, and got nothing. So I sat there all night. And still nothing. I didn't move. He came two days later. And said, "Still here I see." I smirked; I should have known the bastard would try to wait me out.

I was waiting for you.

That's what I wanted to say. Instead I had said, "Obviously."

He knew what I hadn't said. I could tell. He was smirking.

I wondered how I could tell them that the vicious banter between us two helped us both unwind, that somehow our common hatred was something secure to grasp onto when everything else, including our own identities were changing. While somebody else threw our lives around, sometimes even away, changing everything about it; they could change a lot about us but they couldn't change that hate.

I wondered if I would have to tell them that the banter soon became friendly, fun even. Or if they'd pick that up themselves.

I knew I'd have to tell them that eventually the banter stopped and turned to outright talking, and soon it lapsed into comfortable silence.

I wondered if they knew how long this had been going on, if Gibbs would be resentful that I had turned to Kort for comfort and not him. I wondered if McGee would be jealous of Kort and I's Bromance.

He'd probably wonder how I ever let Kort get that close.

I wouldn't be able to tell him. Because I didn't know.

"_In the arms of the angel, far away from this dark cold hotel room and the endlessness that you fear. You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie. you're in the arms of the angels. May you find, some comfort here."_

It had just happened over time. We understood one another, we were comrades.

I would be asked if I had trusted him.

I would say yes.

Bossman would ask me if he had my six.

Yes.

Would you have his?

In a heartbeat, without a doubt, no hesitation.

I'd look at Gibbs, he'd look back. I'd feel the need to tell him how funny Trent could be, how intelligent and clever he was; and loyal, he was on the side of good. I would want to emphasize that. I would have wanted to glare at him and tell him that Kort wasn't a refrigeration unit, that there was a human being, a soul, in that body. And it was a likeable one. But I wouldn't dare mutter those things to anyone, not even Gibbs. Because then I wouldn't be the only one who knew Kort.

It was like a secret, the real Trent Kort. It kept him safe. He trusted himself with me. I don't know why. I don't care why. It was enough that he did. And I didn't want to share that with anybody. If they didn't want to take the time to look past the mask Kort put on everyday of his life than they didn't deserve to know anything other than that mask.

I wish I never knew him. It wouldn't hurt so bad. I'd be celebrating right now instead of grieving. There would be joy instead of the agony of my heart being ripped out. Peace instead of confusion. Everything would be right again, instead of a mess. I'd be whole, instead of in pieces, half of me dead. Blown away. My soul completely gone.

"_So tired of the straight life and everywhere you turn there's vultures and thieves at your back and the storm keeps on twisting keep on building the lies that you make up for all that you lack."_

I went to the park this morning.

I sat on our bench.

I waited for him.

He never showed.

I kept waiting.

I looked down. I saw his blood on my hands.

I closed my eyes and reopened them. His blood was every where's. It dripped off me like I had taken a bath in it.

It was the only thing I had left of him. It meant nothing.

"_It don't make no difference escape them one last time it's easier to believe in this sweet madness. Oh, this glorious sadness,that brings me to my knees."_

His blood was all over me when he was killed. Maybe I hadn't changed. I thought I had. I had held him, I knew he was long gone but still I had held him like any good brother should. Keeping a constant vigil at his side until he could peacefully pass onto the after life.

I thought I had grabbed those bloody clothes and put them on that morning.

I stopped thinking about it.

I just felt his blood on me.

It was cold.

He was gone.

Really gone.

I felt cold. Just like his blood, just like his body lying in the ground.

I wondered if they'd let me get that cold too.

"_In the arms of the angel far away from here, from this dark cold hotel room and the endlessness that you fear you are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie."_

I wondered who would pick out my headstone and decide what was written on it. Gibbs most likely, he was my next of kin. I had picked out Kort's. I had written his epitaph. It was simple. I didn't bother giving dates. No birth year or death year. It was his name.

Trent Kort.

Beloved Brother.

It was all that needed to be said.

I haven't visited his grave yet. I don't think I ever will. It hurts too much, I still hold those bloody clothes to my chest every night and wish it had been me. Or both of us.

I wondered if they knew.

I looked up. Someone had been calling my name. It was Gibbs. He was looking at me strangely. I stared back at him blankly.

I was still holding Trent.

Gibbs was speaking.

I was still crying over the dead body of my brother.

I could barely hear him.

I wouldn't let go, I couldn't. If I let go Trent would die.

I could hear the tone, the rhythm in his voice but I couldn't make out the words.

I couldn't stop crying. I didn't sob. I choked on them, causing my body to shake. But I couldn't stop crying. Nobody saw.

Gibbs had stopped speaking; he had placed his hands directly over mine on the desk and leaned forward. I looked into his piercing blue eyes. Mine were still catatonic.

Ducky was there. For some reason Ducky was there. He kept telling me that Trent was gone, that I had to let go of him because he had already left. I made him promise not to tell anyone about this. He said he wouldn't.

Gibbs was looking at me. I wanted to spill my guts but I wouldn't.

I sat on the warehouse floor, bloody hands in my hair. I looked a mess. Like I had bathed in blood.

Gibbs was speaking again. I heard his tone again.

I was still crying.

Words were starting to break through.

I was still holding Trent.

Gibbs opened his mouth.

I was hugging his dead body to me. I was asking myself why I hadn't done so earlier, when he was alive. Why hadn't I just kept him alive?

Gibbs spoke.

I was still holding Kort.

Gibbs walked away. I had heard him, loud and clear. It took a few minutes to sink in.

I was still holding Kort.

But I was also echoing Gibbs.

"I know."

"_You're in the arms of the angel may you find some comfort here. You're in the arms of the angel, may you find some comfort here."_


End file.
